by Ruth Nicholson
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Adrees Latif
/
Reuters
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Our bird feeder is a seed-rich cylinder
with holes, perches, and a baffle
for deterring squirrels. Baffle—like
a wire cage—sometimes traps
a hungry sparrow, leaves it hanging
upside down, tiny toes entangled.
Left alone too long, the bird dies.
with holes, perches, and a baffle
for deterring squirrels. Baffle—like
a wire cage—sometimes traps
a hungry sparrow, leaves it hanging
upside down, tiny toes entangled.
Left alone too long, the bird dies.
We rescued one such bird today,
while TV news announced a migrant
drowned in Rio Grande, thwarted by
new floating buoys—like a necklace
of enormous beads that rotate.
Beneath the buoys, nets that snare.
Attempts to climb over, go under, swim
to the riverbank—meant to fail.
Migrant netted, left for dead.
Not a baffle to ignore. Pay attention,
Texas and the rest of us; God’s eye
is on the sparrow.
Ruth Nicholson is a retired library assistant and avid student of nature, especially birds and wildflowers. She writes from South Carolina, where she now has more poet-friends discovered through Zoom during the pandemic. Her poems have appeared in Illuminations, Passages North, Emrys Journal, Jasper, and Fall Lines, among others, and she has work in the forthcoming edition of Kakalak.
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